Burn, Baby, Burn
by KissMeUnderTheStars
Summary: They say that love is friendship on fire. So, let's burn, baby, burn. RL/SB - Marauder years
1. History of Magic

**Disclaimer**;; J.K. Rowling owns these characters. They are not mine. I do not own them.  
**AN**;; these things always look longer in Word.....

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History of Magic

Remus

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I can still smell bread and butter on his breath, mingling with the sweet pumpkin juice he dislikes but drinks anyways, and even the bit of peppermint left over from his toothpaste this morning. That was nearly three hours ago. I can smell his hair, freshly washed this morning, the clean scent of soap mixing with his natural musky smell deliciously.

I smell these things because it is all I can own of Sirius Black.

He sits next to me in class, drawing on his parchment rather than listen to Professor Binns and take notes. Black hair falls like silk into his storm grey eyes, drifting over his rugged features and stubble lined jaw. His breath causes his too long hair to flutter as he sighs, obviously bored. He licks his lips and I am caught in the motion, wishing that was my tongue or my lips he was caressing. The action is simple, innocent even, and yet I am caught up in it like a fierce wind. His gaze turns to me and I am caught like a child taking one too many sweets. A smirk breaks his face and I am trapped, staring at his mischievous glittering eyes as he licks his lips slowly again, throwing in as much seduction as he can. I feel myself leaning forward ever so slightly but I force myself to stop.

Sirius leans towards me now, the space between us closing far too rapidly than appropriate. His tempter's grin is too much for me and my mind swirls with thoughts worthy of one of Sirius' dirty magazines. I clench my hands, quill stabbing my sweating flesh, willing myself to not kiss my best mate of seven years in the middle of class, willing myself to not weave my fingers into his hair and pull him close and drown in his taste and scent. I want to see him writhe in pleasure underneath my ministrations. Now, though, all I see is the laughter, confusion and perhaps lust in his eyes. He has known for several months now that I fancy him. He does not know that I have allowed it to become borderline obsession.

Class ends abruptly, startling us both from our tense world. I draw a deep breath, cradling my silent fancies against my heart before collecting my material things. Perhaps I am a little too dramatic about the entire situation. Perhaps not. Every breath I take that is not tainted with his scent stings like rejection. Every sight of him and a girl burns like phoenix fire.

It hurts worse because I know that he fancies me back.


	2. Dinner

**Disclaimer**;; J.K. Rowling owns these characters. They are not mine. I do not own them.

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Dinner

Sirius

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His nose is buried in a book again.

I can see him through my curtain of black hair, watching him as he mechanically takes a bite of bread and turns a page. I wonder what appeal he finds in reading those novels. I wonder if he actually reads them or if he simply manages to absorb the information without digesting a word. I must be staring because he looks up at me suddenly, his liquid brown eyes hidden by his own shaggy brown hair. I feel like the rabbit Moony murdered last moon, caught in the wolf's gaze, helpless to avoid his strong, death inducing jaws. I am sure that he can feel my heartbeat, hear how it thunders in my chest. I wonder if he realizes just how much I fancy him. Surely the bloody werewolf notices my heart rate when I see him, smell the sweat on my palms when we accidentally touch. Surely he knows.

I manage to wrench my gaze from his, trying to combat the heat and shame I feel rising in my cheeks. Merlin. Sirius Black should not be embarrassed by a bit of fancying. I pick at the treacle in front of me, suddenly not hungry and wondering what Remus would taste like right now if I leaned across the table and planted one on him suddenly. I frown at my plate, not liking this train of thought. Remus is my best mate, not lover.

I glance up at him and just manage to hide my shock at seeing him openly study me. His eyelashes flutter for a moment. Remus had always been terrible at hiding his surprise. His gaze continues to rake over my features and a shiver slips down my spine, the hair on the back of my neck raising. I want to give in. I want to give in to what he offers me, what I can have with him rather than a girl. I want to grasp the coiled lust that I have contained for two years now and embrace it, use it to pull Remus close to me and just drink him in. It is all I long to do, which, I suppose, is why I tease him mercilessly. Licking my lips slowly, touching his knee softly, brushing his face with my fingers. I suppose I do these things because I don't know what else to do with myself sometimes.

He's still watching me when I pull back from my thoughts. His expression makes me wonder just what my face revealed to him. Lust? Confusion? Desire? I'm not sure and his gaze unnerves me for some reason. He licks his own lips, unconsciously it seems, but I am caught up in the motion all the same. I am sure that he catches the irony of the situation, the reversal of roles from only hours ago. A smirk worthy of Slytherin slides across the lycanthrope's face and he leaves, novel in hand. I stare at my plate, hoping that the lust will drip from my eyes and perhaps I can face Remus Lupin tonight in the dorm without wanting to rip the clothes from his body and lick him all over.


	3. Common Room

**Disclaimer**;; J.K. Rowling owns these characters. They are not mine. I do not own them.  
**Authors Note**;; :D I love you guys! I didn't think that this story would catch anyone's interest. By the way, I'm trying to keep it in present tense but am having a bit of trouble catching myself on it. :c Bear with me or point it out like crazy any mistakes I make.

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Common Room

Remus

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His laughter drifts to me, soft and rolling yet still deep and capable of making me shiver all at the same time. It's not his usual barking laugh, harsh and echoing staccatos although, that too, makes me shudder. I can see him and James trade jokes over their games of Wizarding Chess, making each other burst into laughter in turns. He was won four games in a row now and I wonder how long James will go before he gets frustrated and gives up. James can only lose for so long before Sirius' ego gets to him. I watch him over the edge of my novel, long hand setting up the newly repaired chess pieces easily, ignoring their tiny protests at being handled in such a manner. He says something and I miss it. James shakes his head and deserts the opponent's chair, making Sirius whine and complain.

"Get Moony to play with you," James growls, flinging his self into a chair near the entrance to the Common Room, presumably to wait for Lily who disappeared to the library an hour ago. Storm grey eyes flash to me and I try to stop the shudder from sliding down my spine. He catches something in my face and cocks an eyebrow. I can practically imagine him raising one hand, the scar twisting about his knuckles, and crooking a finger, hair falling into his eyes. Right now though, he gives a jerk of his head, nothing but friendly camaraderie to anyone who is watching. I sigh, close my novel and leave my own warm chair for the opponent's.

I am suddenly glad that Sirius and James had set up the board in a corner of the Common Room. Shadows fall over us easily, hiding the note quite accidental brushes of skin, the slight blush that blooms across my cheeks when his knee presses between mine, hard. Few other Gryffindors notice us even sitting in the corner, our own friends' attention caught else where. He manages to keep a look of innocence on his face, which I suppose he must maintain since he faces the room and I do not. I wonder if we look like the simple seventh year Gryffindors that he is managing to convey to the world and nothing more.

Turns come and go and I soon find myself losing terribly. A sigh slips from my lips and I jump at the touch of Sirius' foot slipping under my pants leg to rub against my calf. His toes are shockingly cold and curl against my flesh. A smirk cracks his face but his visage is turned downwards, dark hair cascading over his eyes, just brushing his lips. I try to focus on the board, try to block out his shifting as he slides his chair forward, the table digging into his stomach. I can't figure out what he's trying to do until his foot slides even further up, deserting the inside of my pants and brushing my covered thigh. His smirk grows deeper at the obvious lust that must burn in my eyes. I can't resist leaning into is touch, loving that I can give into something.

The chess is game is forgotten, our pieces protesting as Sirius slides his chair around the table, perhaps pretending to the Common Room that he is going to teach me something about the game. I can never tell what is going on through his mind. The backs of the chairs hide us from view but I still squirm as he licks his lips and places a hand on my thigh. He is practically in my lap, face inches from mine. His breath smells of the roast beef he ate for dinner and his own warm scent. I can feel the warmth seep from his skin and drink in the scents. I wonder if he can feel my heart racing, see my pulse fluttering in my throat; I can certainly hear his, practically smell his lust. He moves closer to me and tilts his head, shifting so that he can cup my jaw, moving his other hand further up my thigh, one leg straddling me.

I can't breathe.

Is this his confession to me?

Is he finally giving into what we both know is there but can't admit?

Is he casting aside his Casanova reputation and settling for the lusty werewolf?

His eyes close and I mimic him. His lips ghost mine and his tongue flicks my lips. I resist a shudder, leaning into both the beginnings of the kiss and his cupped hand. His lips pull away from mine and suddenly his tongue strokes across my entire face, slobbering as much as possible. I jerk away and he bursts out laughing, collapsing into his own chair, chest heaving with his gasping breath.

"Fag," the word is harsh, snarling from my throat as I clamber from my chair and leave him.

"No-no-no," he gasps, laughing as he stumbles over me. I pause to look at him, staring as he leans on his knees, bent over laughing. Eventually, he manages to control himself and stands up properly.

"So-sorry, Moony," he smirks, tossing his hair from his eyes in that ultra-sexy move that I've yet to master and envy him for. I growl and turn away, wondering why I expected him to say anything about it at all.

"Remus," Sirius grabs my arm and I can't help it. Anger surges in my veins and I whip around, fist already clenched. The sound of flesh hitting flesh sickens me and I feel cartilage snapping under my knuckles. Nothing stops me and I hit him again, fury blinding me. James hollers something and I am suddenly on the floor, glaring at Sirius. My hand aches, the physical pain masking the pieces of Sirius he has ripped from me, the very bits I was allowed to own are cast upon the floor, reflected in the blood on the carpet.

There is no hope at all.


	4. Library

**Disclaimer**;; J.K. Rowling owns these characters. They are not mine. I do not own them.  
**Author's Note**;; I think a lost a little bit of the -omph- i had in the last three chapters in this one. ^^;;  
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Library

Sirius

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I have never felt so guilty in my life. My nose aches, I still have a black eye and I'm currently making out with one of the hottest Ravenclaw girls I know. She squirms, knocking three books off of the shelf behind her and I wrap a leg around hers, trying to get her to quit shoving her hands into the shelves. My lips suckle her neck, sliding through her unbuttoned collar, tasting the rising flesh of her breasts. Her skin is soft, smooth and utterly delectable, hardly pressing against my healing nose. This is not what I want at all.

"Sirius?"

I realize that I've already pulled away and am walking down the aisle of the library, running a hand through my hair. She repeats my name and I ignore her, her high pitched feminine voice grating on my ears for one reason or another. I frown, knowing exactly why the Ravenclaw dissatisfies me, why any bird I have hooked up with in the last week has dissatisfied me like ever before. Every single one falls to my usual charm, smirk and purr about how awful it is that Remus punched me in the face. Every one is practically pulling their clothes off for me before I can lock the door to what ever room we end up in. Every single one has pleased me before and now the thoughts of a fucked up werewolf disturb my every waking moment and the last three nights, my dreams also.

The library doors swing close behind me and I aimlessly wander. I have nowhere to be on Saturdays, typically capturing a bird or two to kill time or hanging out with the rest of the Marauders. But Remus and I aren't speaking and neither James nor Peter know why. I refuse to tell them and suppose Remus won't confess to our shared desire either. It's too frustrating and I shove a second year Hufflepuff out of my way, nearly knocking him to the ground. Muttered curses slither behind me, shutting up as soon as whoever he was walking with recognizes me. Merlin, I can't fucking handle this anymore.

James spots me storming across the grounds first. I can see him nudge Remus. Playing sides now, are we? I realize there is a growl sliding through my clenched teeth and manage to check myself before reaching the rest of the Marauders. Peter scrambles out of my way, eyes wide. James stands but I ignore him, eyes locked on the bleeding werewolf who's reading a novel again. I stand, my shadow drifting over the pale pages, bleeding into the text and quite obviously blocking his light.

"Looking for something?"

His voice is short, clipped and makes me want to drag him through the dirt and rape his mouth with my tongue until he begs for mercy. I want to take this fragile, broken werewolf and curl up, glue our broken selves together and try to be whole, if only for a moment. I want to be able to admit that I want this, need this, long for this. He looks up at me, brown eyes sharp, judgmental, burning with that mix of hate and desire I've stared at for the last week. His hair just falls into one of his eyes, covering it enough that I lose it. Soft pink tongue slips out to his lick his lips much like I had done in History of Magic all those days ago. No wonder he hates me.

"You, I was looking for you," I manage to choke out, shoving a hand into my pockets, trying to not just fling myself at him. I stare at the ground; watching my shadow drift over him, dampen the sharp green of the grass. His laughter makes my heart stop and I look at his face.

"Why the hell are you looking for me?" he puts the book down, pages spread to stare at the earth next to my shoes. He stands, brushing the grass from his robes as he does so. I can't answer, my heart stuck in a strange flutter, one I am sure the wolf can smell. He must be able to sense the wild heartbeat that skims the soft skin of my throat. Remus shifts and I find my breath, eyes flicking everywhere but his own eyes. I can't take the hate that burns there. It makes me want to throw myself on the ground, beg him for forgiveness.

"Moony, can we…" my voice falters. Where is the charm that comes to me so easily anytime I speak to a bird? Where is the grace and elegance that normally slips through my language? How can this one werewolf, one man, make me stop and shudder with desire at the simple sound of his voice? How?

"Can we go somewhere and talk?"

The sentence makes him blink, slow and easy, absorbing my simple request. I want to cup his stubble lined jaw, press my lips to his eyelids, trail my mouth down that pale cheek and kiss him. The hand in my pocket clenches in resistance.

"Fine. Ten minutes, then I don't want to see you for the rest of the day."

It is enough for now.


	5. Some Hallway

**Disclaimer**;; J.K. Rowling owns these characters. They are not mine. I do not own them.  
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Some Hallway

Remus

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I have allowed him to hold my hand to lead me across the grounds and back into the school. His hand is sweating, warm, and rough all at the same time. I can feel the scars I have given him crisscross his skin, some smooth and glossy to the touch, others rough and jagged. Anger pulses in his wrist, although perhaps he is anxious about our discussion. I can't pinpoint his emotion. They've swirled together in his scent too much, I can't sort them. I am trying to not focus too much on his hand and on the situation, trying to separate what the wolf in me desires and what I know I should be doing.

Few students glance at us as he leads me onwards. I haven't a clue as to where he is taking me and I am far too intrigued for my own good. He hasn't looked back at me since he dragged me from my book that I'm trying to finish. I hope James hasn't closed it and lost my page. The school is incredibly quiet around us.

"Remus."

We've finally stopped in an empty hallway. He turns to me, fingers still woven within mine, sweaty palm still pressed against mine. His hair falls in his eyes like always and I want to reach out and brush it away. I reach out and stop, dropping my hand.

"Sirius, what did you want to say?" I gaze over his still bruised flesh, wondering why he didn't magically heal it, remembering the satisfaction at hitting him, the anger at his teasing. It's a rush and I am back there in the Common Room, anger throbbing in my veins.

He looks at his feet, our hands, "…I can't do this anymore. I can't walk around by myself anymore. I can't study. I can't mock Snivellus. I can't hit on birds. I can't do anything anymore without thinking of you. I'm all over the place and can't come back just because we haven't spoken for a week. It's driving me insane. I guess it's always driven me insane but you, me, I don't know…I've just been forced to realize these last few days that I need you in order to survive a single day let alone an hour. Damn it. I can't do this anymore."

The words are rushed, blurring together like so many noises and voice pitches blurred together. His gaze flicked from the floor to me to our hands back to me. I cling to the shreds of anger that still burn in me but they begin to slip. I'm too passive for my own good.

"What are you saying?" I look at him, searching through storm gray eyes for what I think is his confession, his apology, his way of giving in. He licks his lips and stares at the ground before finally looking up at me. He opens his mouth then closes it, the words not coming to him. His other hand is suddenly touching my face and he's pressing me against the wall. He's too close for a friend and not close enough for what I suddenly want.

"I am saying, Remus Lupin, that I am sorry for teasing you and deserved the broken nose and black eye you gave me," he whispers, breath caressing my skin like a summer wind. My eyes fall close, drinking in his scents. He shifts and catches my other hand, trapping both of them between us. His fingers trail down my cheek and along my jaw. His hand curves to cup my face there and I feel him tilt my head. It is as if he is studying me intensely. I wonder what his intention is and pray to the moon he isn't fucking with me again. I swear if this is a trick I will personally rip his-

Lips brush mine, hesitant, soft and delicate. Sirius pulls back and I find myself following, seeking what he has teased and tortured me with for years. A soft chuckle seeps from his throat and I feel his hair brush along my cheek as he kisses my throat. It's not what I want and I open my eyes to watch him. He comes back to my mouth and kisses me again. His hesitation at kissing a male seems to be gone as his body is pressed flush against mine. I have wanted this for months and yet…I can't do this.

"Sirius," I pull away, nearly cracking my skull on the wall behind me. He stops, hand still clutching mine, body still pressed too close to me. Storm grey eyes search my face and I know that he was giving in for the first time, admitting to himself that he can give up the birds for the wolf. I hate this.

"What's the matter, Moony?" The words are delicate and soft. I want to take them and wrap them and his voice around me like a blanket and just hide from my resistance and hesitations. I want to give in and not let the little voice in my head whisper terrible things. Merlin, this isn't right.

"I'm sorry," the words weep from my lips and I manage to slip away from him, tug my hands from his, "So sorry, Sirius."

And then I start to run.


	6. Dormitory

**Disclaimer**;; J.K. Rowling owns these characters. They are not mine. I do not own them.  
**Authors Note**;; Hey guys. I'm going to be a lot slower on updating any and all of my fics due to school. I have three projects due next week and exams and a ton of other stuff to do before I graduate. =] Don't worry, I'll update when I can, it just won't be terribly often.  
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Dormitory

Sirius

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I can still taste him; feel his lips on mine, warm body pressed between mine and the wall. Even when my eyes are closed, fists pressed hard against my eyelids, his is still there. I lay silent, hangings drawn closed around my bed, still dressed in my clothes from earlier today. I've been here since he left me, missing the rest of the day with my friends and a meal. I can hear James and Peter and…him…move about the room, all silent in voice. None come to bother me or mutter goodnight.

I drag the pillow over my head, wanting the sounds to go away, for sleep to come. I am too wound up though, reliving that moment over and over again, living what I cannot have. How awful it is to taste what you have longed for for so long, only to have it snatched away in a moment. I suddenly see why Remus is made at me, why he cannot give in to what I asked him for. I have ruined him.

Broken him.

Shattered him.

Time passes. Sleep comes to all but me. I can hear them breathing regularly, the sound barely loud enough to permeate the thick drapes around me. I wait a few more moments after noticing this, making sure that I hear the truth and not what I want to believe. I slip out of bed, sliding through the hangings quietly. Moonlight already spills through the window, leaving pools of white light on the bare stone floor, darkening as it finds a chunk of rug or other object that lays misplaced. I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the window, studying the waxing moon as it stares back. A noise behind me causes me to jump and I turn. Moony is perched on the edge of his bed, framed perfectly by his own set of bed hangings. I looked at him and blinked, nearly frozen.

"Come here, Sirius," his voice is soft and shy.

"Why?" The word is out before I can stop myself. He looks away, loose brown hair spilling into his face.

"Because," he falters and I watch him struggle for words, for what he wants to say.

"Because I'm sorry about today," he murmurs, "Because I…I want to try this, Sirius. I want to try…us." He stares up at me through his curtain of hair, reminding me of him hunting as a werewolf. I sigh, frustrated.

"Come here," he repeats, his tone commanding as he offers a hand to me. I don't know if I should take that scarred hand. A laugh suddenly bubbles to my lips and I manage to catch it before it escapes although a smirk manages to slide easily onto my lips. I, Sirius Black, am suddenly the one hesitating on something – no, some_one_ – good. I'm the one taking the last step and allowing him to clutch my hand. He's soft and hard and unyielding angles all at the same time. He pulls me to the bed, skin already fever hot as he kisses me, over eager, untrained, and more slobbering dog than sophisticated wolf. The bed creaks under us as we move and shift and I suddenly pause, terrified James or Peter will wake and find us but then he's straddling my hips and I'm lost to him. Merlin, where did my shy, clever, book smart Moony go? How is it that physical contact can melt my ache and guilt at tearing this man apart? I have but a second to ponder it before he shifts and I'm biting my lip to resist a moan.

His lips are suddenly on mine and I clutch at his shirt, finding myself awkward at being a bottom. I slide both hands under the cloth over the interesting flat chest that is pressing against me. I want more of him but he dominates me so easily tonight, overeager and wolfish. His lips slide down my jaw, smooth since I have shaved. They brush my pulse point at my throat and I jump at the feeling of his tongue lapping at it as if he can taste the life force that lies just beneath my fragile layer of skin. Slowly, he moves elsewhere, teeth nipping lightly at my skin. He gains more confidence, taking my reactions as positive signs as he explores further.

I am caught under him, mind lost to the unexpected pleasure I have found in my best mate, body equally lost to the sensations. It startles me in some way that I am capable of kissing a male, that I am capable of being aroused at harsh angular hipbones and flat chests. It startles me that I am barely turned off at my best mate tearing my shirt open and rubbing his stubble covered cheek against my chest, making me writhe unexpectedly.

It is all so different yet it is the same.

He stops and raises himself enough to look at my face, panting slightly. I can see the true Moony burning in his eyes, the gold wolf eyes ready to bleed into brown human. I realize that there is so much more, will be so much more, to what Remus is asking of me, of what I am asking of him. It will be more than a relationship, a wild fling at school; it will be a lifelong commitment and Moony will not settle for less.

"Sorry," he whispers again, "I'm so sorry." It's silly, laughable almost, that he is the one apologizing when I am the one who has torn and shredded his hear. It is insane to hear those words pass his lips and I see a flicker of pain in his eyes before he hides it. My eyebrow raises as I again realize that he believes that he has done the same to me.

I touch his face softly and he leans into it, eyes fluttering closed, "Why did you run from me then?" He sighs, warm breath caressing over my hand. It smells like his spearmint toothpaste; such a Muggle thing. He slips off of me, hiding his overwhelmingly obvious need with a blanket. I resist tearing the blanket and his clothes from him as I prop myself on my elbows to see him properly.

"I'm not sure, Sirius. I mean, one day you're teasing me and the next we're snogging in the middle of a hallway. It's confusing."

I smirk, "Well, one day you're mooning after me, the next you punch me. Two weeks later, we snog and then you run and now I'm on your bed in need of a shag because you kissed me again." I can just see a hint of a blush bloom on his cheeks and watch his struggle to not look at my loins.

"We're idiots, aren't we?"

I sigh and, ignoring the creaking bed, move across the blankets and tuck myself into his lap.

"No. Just me."


	7. Breakfast

**Disclaimer**;; J.K. Rowling owns these characters. They are not mine. I do not own them.  
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Breakfast

Remus

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This is going too fast.

Sirius has gone and taken this relationship by the throat and pulled it from the closet, forcing us out of that nice cozy room in three seconds and together in a solid relationship the next millisecond. Suddenly, I have found myself in the Great Hall, eating eggs with one hand because my other is being clutched by Sirius'. Eyes watch us from all over, teachers included, and I can practically feel the rumors bristling against my back as they are swapped from person to person. The entire air of the school is changing just because Sirius is clutching my hand.

"Get me the salt?"

I nearly jump, tugged out of my thoughts so immediately it's terrifying. Sirius is watching me, eyes serious and studious. It doesn't seem to be a true Sirius that is watching me but I think I am partially blind when it comes to this. I have not seen this side of Sirius, this nearly protective, hold-your-hand sort of Sirius. Everything has changed due to a few simple kisses and teenage lust and it is terrifying.

"Remus? Salt?"

I blink, realizing that I have sunk back into my thoughts without acknowledging his request. He is still looking at me and I must force myself to put down my fork and give Sirius the salt. He still watches me even as he shakes a bit onto whatever he is eating; I haven't a clue. I can see he wants to ask me something even if I don't know what. His face carries that question so easily. I wonder if he's an open book to everyone or if my near obsession has allowed me to read him like I do.

His hand squeezes mine, meant as a reassurance I'm sure but it is little protection against the harsh words I can practically feel along my skin. I stare at my plate, my eyes unable to focus. I'm glad that it is Sunday and I don't have classes, something James and Sirius and Peter might gasp at if I muttered it out loud.

"Come on," Sirius suddenly stands, his hand pulling mine and I am forced to go with him. I can hear the anger tainting his voice, see it curl through his stance and darken his eyes. I follow at his small urging, feeling more like a pet dog who has been beaten with his Master's stick than the pleased man I know I should be. I have captured my quarry, convinced him that he fancies me and that I him. He leads me from the Great Hall and I struggle to not cower in the wake of glares, murmurs, soft cheers, and I-told-you-so's that follow us. It is sickening that I have allowed myself to submit to the crowd and believe their disgust and allow it to curl inside of my belly like a cat but that is the way I am. Isn't it?

The weak morning sun feels wonderful on my face and it takes a moment for me to realize Sirius has brought me outside. We are half way to our usual tree before I am able to cast off the cloak of doubt I have been carrying all night. Away from the school, our friends and partially my self, this feels right. I wonder if I will ever be able to remain like this for more than a moment alone. He says nothing until we are standing on the far side of our tree, as hidden from view as possible. He looks at me, those grey eyes I have stared at for so long serious and I want to laugh. This is not my Sirius, this is not the man I have fallen for. This Sirius is…serious.

"What is the matter, Padfoot?" My free hand drifts up to rub along the side of his jaw, fingers grating against the stubble. He is so lazy when it comes to shaving despite the handy spell I have reminded him of again and again. My words stir something within him though and his grip on my hand tenses for a moment.

"You are, Moony. Something is wrong and you're unhappy," he shakes his hair out of his eyes and my mood blackens back to the darkness of moments ago.

"I have no reason to be unhappy, Sirius. I mean, I've somehow managed to come out of the closet and gained a solid relationship in the same moment. Of course, it isn't that everyone in the whole school knows or that I'm waiting for the owl from my mum because I guarantee someone will tell their mother who will gossip about it and it will reach my mum's ears. It certainly isn't that this is what I've wanted for months and now that I have it I have no idea what to do with my. And it most certainly isn't the words and gossip my class mates are smirking about behind my back."

Sirius looks at me and warm air escapes his mouth in a harsh breath, causing his hair to flutter, "I suck at relationships. Man…" He runs a hand through his hair and pulls away from me, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. I can see him think and I'm sure he's going to spout some sort of clever plan about how to get the kids to shut up, how to explain things to my mother and how I should cope with everything. The truth is that he kisses me lightly on the lips and sighs, resting his head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Remus…I…I was just over excited I guess…I don't know," his voice is muffled and I realize he is pressing his face into my sweater, hiding from the world. I embrace him, glad for the touch of his body and his struggle for words.

"I want to say 'Don't worry, Remus, we'll get through this' or 'Just ignore those tossers. They don't know what we've got' but they're just words and it doesn't fix it, eh?" He sighs, "But I guess that's what we'll be doing, eh? Getting through whatever this shit is and trying to ignore the doubters and nay-sayers."

"Nay-sayers? Have you been reading my books?" The crack slips from my lips before I can halt it and I realize that his words do comfort me despite being cliché and somewhat empty. I realize that perhaps I am just being silly and should simply be glad that he is finally mine.


End file.
